


Hannibal Prompt Fills

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: A collection of Hannibal universe prompt fills from various sources. Please see the notes preceding each individual chapter for specific tags.
Relationships: Chiyoh & Will Graham
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Hannibal Prompt Fills

**Author's Note:**

> The **[Picture Prompt Fun](https://picture-prompt-fun.dreamwidth.org/161822.html)** community on Dreamwidth featured a photograph of the moon over some train tracks for prompt #167, and naturally my mind went straight to Will Graham.
> 
> In this version of the story, Chiyoh doesn't bother kissing Will before she pushes him over the train because why would she? This is basically 100% introspection with a cameo appearance by our friend The Stag TM.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>  **NO ADDITIONAL TAGS APPLY**.

For a second, Will was certain that Chiyoh was about to kiss him.

She was close and warm and smelled faintly of perfume—something crisp and light and floral. Will could see the requisite steps of the coming interaction, laid out before them like dancing feet painted on a studio floor. He would put his hand on Chiyoh’s waist, low enough to convey intent but not so low as to offend propriety. Chiyoh would curl her hand over his shoulder in turn, or maybe around the back of his neck. She would tilt her head, and Will would try to ignore the familiarity of the gesture, the distant impressions of Hannibal he could pick out in the shadows at the corners of her smirk, the blood-dark gleam of her eyes in the moonlight.

Her mouth would be soft, coaxing and yielding, aggressor and defender by turns as desire ebbed and spun. It would be nothing like kissing Hannibal might be, despite the way his ghost lingered there between them.

It was more of a relief than Will expected when Chiyoh shoved him off the back of the train instead.

He was suspended in the air for an eternal heartbeat, stomach twisting and pulse singing while gravity recognized that he had slipped free of its influence and exerted itself once more.

He hit the tracks with his shoulders first, breath knocked loose by the impact. Momentum pushed him into a sloppy somersault and he rolled a few times, bringing his arms up to protect his head, for what little good it did. He came to a stop some short seconds later, though it felt like it had taken years, and lay there wheezing as the train chugged merrily on into the dark night. The whistle sounded twice as it disappeared over the lazy slope of a distant hill. Will wondered if Chiyoh was still watching, or if she had gone back inside as soon as the soles of his shoes kissed the open sky.

There was a soft, choked noise caught in the back of his throat. His ears were ringing and his eyes stung. His face was on fire all down one side and his back was likely a tapestry of developing bruises, though adrenaline had numbed most of that pain, for the moment. Will lay facedown, drifting in and out of consciousness and whimpering like a wounded dog until he felt the velvet nudge of a muzzle ruffling his hair. A gust of hot, animal breath stirred his curls, and Will roused himself enough to crawl into the shallow, scrubby ditch alongside the tracks.

He must have bitten his lip at some point, or else caught it against something, because his mouth was awash with the bright, earthy bloom of fresh blood. He struggled up just far enough to test his ribs on either side with careful, shaking hands. They were almost definitely bruised in more than one place, maybe even broken, but Will was pretty sure he hadn’t punctured a lung.

The treeline wasn’t far off, and Will pushed up onto his hands and knees and staggered toward it, coming to rest with his back braced against a skinny young pine that tilted and swayed in the breeze. From a distance, the stag watched him, feathers rustling as it shifted and pawed at the earth. He hadn’t seen it in all his long months of recovery, or during the choppy passage overseas on the Nola, but here it was now. Ready to guide him on to Florence, where Hannibal was, if not waiting for Will, specifically, then at least settled enough that Will might catch him there before he had the chance to uproot himself.

Will sat in the grass for a long, long while, listening to the cacophony of the forest pick back up, one trilling creature at a time, as the night settled around them like stagnant water. The stag paced a little way down the tracks, in the same direction the train had been traveling, and then turned back around to peer at Will expectantly. He wondered what might happen if he made it wait too long. Would it carry on without him? Or would it try to cajole him to his feet by some blundering, animal violence?

Another train passed by at some point—a freighter, moving at too high a speed for Will to hitch up onto it even if he’d been in the shape to run after it. The stag stepped casually off the tracks and shook its head in that irritated, equine way, but seemed otherwise unbothered. It circled closer to Will, who licked his lip and winced when the cut therein, sticky but not quite scabbed over yet, split apart again.

He didn’t think Chiyoh had been trying to kill him, not that he would have blamed her for it if she had. She was competent enough that Will’s continued survival couldn’t be an accident, though he would concede that he was damned lucky to have gone ass over teakettle at sixty miles an hour without any major breakages or contusions to show for it. There was a cold sort of rage licking at the far corners of his mind, but it was easy to ignore under the hot, sweet swell of delight that had sparked in his chest. Chiyoh had made him into kindling, fed him whole to a pyre of wild, vicious joy, the same way he had tried to whet her with a taste of Hannibal’s ruthless appetites.

If Will was completely honest with himself—which he tried for, most days—he could admit that he had missed this. It was the rush of a twenty-incher frothing at the end of his line, the sharp-edged satisfaction of another man’s face yielding under the pressure of his fist. It was the closest Will had felt to Hannibal since that night in the kitchen, holding his guts in place with one arm and imagining uselessly that if he could just get a good enough grip he could stand up and give chase. The stag had been with him then, too, flanks quivering as it heaved shallow, dying breaths.

He wasn’t sure he had missed it, but he was glad that it had returned. He reached a hand out toward it and the stag meandered over, obligingly lowering its head so Will could get a fistful of its short, dark fur and haul himself to his feet.

He held onto it for a second longer than he needed to, marveling at its warmth, at the sweet animal musk billowing off of it in a musty cloud every time it moved. Will didn’t know if it was a dream or a hallucination or some kind of ambivalent, interfering spirit. He didn’t believe in angels, but he figured this was as close as he was ever going to get.

The stag tossed its head, one ear flicking, and Will patted the side of its neck, stroked his palm down the long, smooth line of its nose.

“Better get moving,” he told it, and started walking. “We’re a ways out from the next station.”

They were still in Austria, by Will’s calculations, but he was willing to bet not more than a few hours outside of civilization. Chiyoh didn’t murder indiscriminately, or at all if she could help it. Her compassion, whatever was left of it, would have compelled her to give him a fighting chance to survive.

"He's in Florence," Will continued. "Drinking wine and charming crowds of unsuspecting bon vivants and indulging his love of Botticelli." A piece of shale split under his foot and he stumbled, grasping for the stag so he didn't fall. He left his hand on its back, picking his way carefully through the starlit dark on knees that ached and popped. "The Uffizi Gallery," he nodded. "That's our best bet. That's where we'll find him." The promise worked itself like a sliver under his skin, sharp and painful.

The stag didn’t answer, but it moved a little nearer beside him as he went and Will figured that was agreement enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to leave me a prompt for a Hannibal fic, or point me toward one you think I would like, I'm [@thrillingdetectivetales on Tumblr.](https://thrillingdetectivetales.tumblr.com)
> 
> I'll write most characters/pairings and many kinks, with the caveat that I don't guarantee every prompt will get filled. I mostly dip into them when I'm having inspiration issues and want to get something kickstarted, and like everyone does, I have certain squicks and NoTPs that just won't work for me.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
